


all our bruised bodies and the whole heart shrinks

by teenagewaste



Series: leave as though fire burns under your feet [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, Safe Haven (Maze Runner), Suicide, Teresa POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewaste/pseuds/teenagewaste
Summary: The only place she could look was at Newt, the boy that Thomas loved more than anything, the boy that beat her, the same boy that had been completely selfless the entire time she had known him, always giving and giving to everyone else, to the point where Teresa wondered if he had anything left for himself. Maybe Thomas filled the emptiness in him.cannot be read as a standalone





	all our bruised bodies and the whole heart shrinks

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't too ship-oriented, but it's still there and important and relevant!
> 
> title is ripped off from la dispute's song all our bruised bodies and the whole heart shrinks

“You wouldn’t have come to save my life if he was just your best friend, Newt. You know that, I know that, and I’m sure everyone else knows that too. And that’s okay. You can love him, even though he’s gone. You can admit it, but you have to talk to someone first,” Teresa took a small step forward and hesitantly rested a hand on his shoulder, a bit unsure of what to do. She felt as if she were talking to a stray, scared animal, and she didn’t want to startle Newt even more. He already looked on edge constantly. “God knows Tom loved you too.”

The silence that followed was excruciating in a sense. She was unsure of what to do, although she could tell that Newt didn’t particularly want to be having this conversation—not now, possibly not ever, especially not with her. She didn’t blame him. 

Teresa sat in the horrible silence for what was definitely far too long, before carrying on with what she had to say, pushing past the blank expression with fiery eyes.

“He loved you so much, Newt. Everyone could see it, just in the way he looked at you. God, he loved you in so many ways; so many ways that I had wished he had loved me. He would have gone into that city whether Wicked had taken Minho or not if he knew he could get the cure for you.” And it broke Teresa’s heart; the idea that Thomas loved someone so much, and that the someone that he loved wasn’t her. It tore her into pieces, but if it had to be anyone, she would have gladly watched Thomas be happy with Newt for the rest of her life. The two of them deserved it.

She closed her eyes, a soft smile coming to the surface, and then opening her eyes almost immediately. “He and I used to talk; he trusted me like that,” She didn’t miss the way her voice turned to acid, trying to ignore the way the idea of their friendship deteriorating burned in her stomach. “He trusted me. Before…” She looked up at him. “Before.”

“And half of the time, when we would talk, he would talk about _you_. No matter what we were trying to talk about, it always came back to you. I knew Tom loved you from the second I saw him stare at you while you ate a bowl of stew, watching you like you hung the stars, like every movement you made was creating an entirely new universe out there somewhere.”

Teresa almost wanted to laugh; laugh at how absurd it was that she was standing here telling Newt about how much Thomas loved him, when it was right in front of him the whole time. She admitted that, yes, there were things going on that might possibly have blinded them both, but it was there for so long. It was there from the moment the two met as children, apparently since the moment they met again in the glade.

This was the boy who took her Tom away from her, and yet she had no animosity towards him. She held no grudge, she felt no anger. Resigned? Yes. Upset, defeated, _unloved?_ Also, yes. But she held no hatred for Newt. All she saw when she looked in front of her was a boy who was grieving the loss of the person he loved—the person she loved, the person they both loved—and she couldn’t feel anything but empathy.

Teresa squeezed the hand that she had on his shoulder gently, taking a deep breath and another step closer. “He gave up his life for you, he would have tried to do it even if he had survived. His death brought you life, and I think that’s beautiful; I believe that he’s a part of you. I may be a woman of science, but you love him, and I’m sure he’s out there somewhere watching this very moment, and he loves you too.”

Something inside of Newt snapped at that moment. She wasn’t sure what she said, or what she had done, but he cracked, his eyes screwing shut to prevent the tears— that Teresa knew were there—from falling. 

“It doesn’t bloody matter whether he loved me or not, it doesn’t bloody matter whether I love him or not, nothing bloody matters because he’s dead, and I killed him, and you’re the reason why any of this happened in the first place!” Teresa stood frozen in her spot, the verbal assault unexpected. The idea of Newt killing Thomas even more unexpected. But yet, she wasn’t angry about that either, she wasn’t angry about anything. She was ashamed, guilty.

_I know, I know I’m the reason this happened in the first place. I’m sorry, Newt. I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry, I just wanted to find a way._

“You! You caused this and I know it and you know it! Maybe I shoved the knife in his stomach but we wouldn’t even have been in that city if we hadn’t’ve had to get Minho back from you! And-and now everything…now everything is gone. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back. He’s dead, but, oh, at least we were able to bring his body to ‘Paradise’. You can all keep living your lives without him, sitting around campfires and going on runs and smiling and laughing, but I just can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t even pretend to do that. Go enjoy your bloody dinner.” 

She stood frozen in her spot, watching Newt run up the hill, his bad leg slowing him down with every stride. Quickly, she snapped out of it, calling his name behind him.

“Newt!” She yelled, trying to get him to at least turn around, come back, talk to her, yell at her, _anything._ “Newt! Come back!”

The Newt that she had come to know in such a short period of time would have never snapped like that; not even while mourning Thomas, not even while angry at her for everything she had done. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach, and suddenly she was torn between running up the hill behind Newt, or going to find someone to talk to him instead.

Newt probably wouldn’t listen to her, he would stubbornly ignore her or tell her to leave him alone, possibly even run away. The latter option, however, involved her finding someone who would listen to her, which was unlikely. Even if she went down and mentioned Newt’s name, even if she mentioned how worried she was about him. 

But Teresa listened to her gut and decided that the latter option was still the better of the two. She turned and ran as fast as she could downhill, almost tripping over several rocks and her own feet, racking her brain for the best person—the easiest person—for her to go to.

_Minho._

Maybe not the easiest person, but definitely the best person. If she were to run up to him and say that she was worried about Newt, he would without a doubt care. She just had to get him to listen.

She looked up at the sky as she made her way down the final stretch of hill, her shoes hitting the sand. The sky above her was turning from the beautiful colors of sunset to the dark blue-black of the night, and _fuck_ , she needed to find Minho fast, because God only knows what could happen to Newt in the time that it took her to run down that hill.

When she finally spotted him, he was sat between Aris and Brenda on a log right in front of the fire, and, typically, walking up to all three of them would have intimidated her, but there were more important things to worry about than the death glares she would receive. So, she marched over as quickly as possible, and before anyone could get a word out, she spoke.

“Minho, I need you to come with me, I think something’s wrong with Newt,” She could hear the edge to her voice, the way she sounded like she was practically begging. And she was begging; she was begging him to believe her, begging him to follow her _right now._

Minho’s gaze settled on her face, and she hoped that she looked as desperate and distressed as she felt, because maybe that would get him to understand. She could see Brenda open her mouth out of the corner of her eye, ready to make some sort of remark or threat, and Teresa was ready to take it. She was always ready to take it. But before Brenda could speak, Minho was standing up, looking at Teresa expectantly.

“Okay, what’s up with Newt?” He said in a way that sounded almost nonchalant, yet Teresa could tell that he was suddenly on edge.

“You need to come with me, _now.”_ Teresa demanded, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along behind her as she started sprinting back up the way that she came.

“Tell me what’s going on!” He snarled behind her, yet he didn’t stop running. Again, she couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, she would be acting the same way. She couldn’t hold resentment towards him after what WCKD did to him. After she sat and watched and let it happen.

“Newt! He was going up the hill while I was coming down,” She breathed out heavily, not used to talking and running. Not anymore. “And he snapped at me.”

Suddenly, Minho stopped running. The expression of worry and fear he held before turned to one of boredom and annoyance. “You’re kidding, right?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s no surprise that he snapped at you. Are you _shocked?_ He blames you for Thomas’ death. He blames you for what happened to me, to everyone. And you’re worried because he _snapped_ at you? You’ve gotta be kidding me. The shank was gonna snap at you one day. Just because his love for Thomas stopped him from doing it for so long doesn’t mean it wasn’t gonna happen eventually.”

“No! No, Minho, you don’t understand,” Teresa grabbed his wrist desperately, her short, blunt nails digging into his skin. “We were talking about Tom, or, I was talking about Tom, I told Newt how much Tom loved him, and he just…snapped! He freaked out and then ran up the hill, and he was acting weird the entire time. I know, _I know_ that one day he was going to snap at me. I’m perfectly aware. But this wasn’t a normal remark, this was different. This was almost…it almost had a hint of finality to it, and that scares me because I don’t understand what that means for him, and I want to make sure that he’s okay. But I need you to do that for me, because he won’t listen to me and we both know he won’t listen to me!”

Minho stared at her, his expression going entirely blank, before he turned and started running back up the hill, this time at double the speed. Teresa didn’t understand why it was so frantic now, what she had said that made the situation different, but she was thankful that he had a change of heart.

And that’s when they heard it.

The gunshot.

Minho stopped in his tracks, Teresa almost running directly into him if she hadn’t skidded to a halt.

“Why are you stopping? Don’t you think there’s something dangerous up there?” She asked, pulling at his arm. When she turned and looked at him, she could see the way his body was slumped, the way he had unshed tears in his eyes when he tilted his head up to make eye contact with her.

“Don’t you get it?” He let out another humorless laugh, although this one sounded more like a choked-out sob. “That was it. That was Newt.”

“What do you mean ‘that was Newt’?” She was almost shouting at this point; nothing was making sense, and all she wanted to do was get to the top of that _god damned hill._

“He’s dead. He didn’t go up there and accidentally find danger. He…he couldn’t do it anymore, could he?” Minho whispered. 

“No, you’re wrong, there’s no way,” Teresa was pleading, she could tell. She was begging, because if Newt died, that means that Thomas died for nothing, that means that the person that Thomas loved the most in this world no longer had a pulse, no longer drew in breaths of oxygen, no longer _lived._

“He was my best friend and you want to tell me I’m wrong, really?” Minho spat out at her, turning and shoving his hands in his pockets, speed walking up the hill. Teresa followed numbly behind him, trying to brace herself for the worst. If Minho was right, God only knows what she was about to walk up to and see.

And yeah, she wished that she had never had a chance to watch the scene in front of her.

They arrived at the clearing, soft grass, perfect temperature, the stars prominent in the sky, with Newt’s body laying limp on the ground. The gun was still in his hand, blood coating the entire right side of his head. 

Although the eeriest part of the entire situation was the small smile that graced his face, as if he had been ready to leave, wanted to leave. Teresa wondered briefly if Newt thought that he was going to see Thomas. She really hoped that was right, that the two boys were together right now.

Minho dropped to his knees next to Newt’s body, cradling his head in both of his hands before resting it on his lap. Teresa stood in shock, numb, and unsure of what to do. She watched as Minho stared down at his best friend, tears running down his cheeks, before he let out a loud, anguished scream. 

Teresa wanted to scream with him.

“I-I,” She stuttered out, backing up slowly. “I’m gonna go get Gally.” And then she was walking away, hot tears trailing down her face. The next thing she knew, she was sprinting, and then she was at the bottom of the hill, with no recollection of how she got there.

She began searching for Gally; standing in the middle of the sand, spinning around in circles, as if that would help her find anything at all. So, she tried to calm down, took three deep breaths—in through her nose, out through her mouth—and then walked over to where most of the construction was going on, because that was the logical place to start, wasn’t it?

Of course, she found Gally working. No matter the hour, he always had his hands on something, finding comfort in the work and the order of it all. Old habits die hard, and they all still had bits and pieces of the glade still engrained in them.

“Gally! Gally…Gally,” Teresa gasped, practically tripping over her own feet as she went from solid ground down to the hut Gally was building on soft sand. “Ga-“

“Say one more word. I don’t have a problem with killing you.” Gally murmured, not looking up from where he was hammering away. “I suggest walking away, too.”

“Seriously, Gally, I wouldn’t be talking to you if it was-“

“I’m serious, five seconds, traitor, five seconds,” He said, putting down the hammer and putting up one hand. “Five, four, three-“ 

“NEWT! It’s about Newt, up, on the hill, Minho’s there too, I swear, please believe-believe me just this once. He-he’s…” Teresa choked out a sob. Gally’s face dropped a bit. She hoped that he didn’t really believe that she’d go through such an extreme performance just to pull something behind his back. Plus, what would she really have to gain from it?

“He’s what, Teresa?”

“Please!” She shouted out, tears streaming down her face, turning and running towards the hill that she had just came from.

Gally hesitated before grabbing a dagger and following her, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Teresa felt nauseous, she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t already thrown up, hadn’t already completely broken down, hadn’t started to feel anything but an urgent need to get everyone to try and help Newt. As if helping Newt was an option, as if he still had a chance for survival, as if a bullet through his temple _didn’t_ kill him. She wanted to believe that he wasn’t dead, and that it wasn’t her fault. 

She felt like the run went on forever, and it was in a way a decently long run, taking about 15 minutes to run from flat ground to top. But it felt like forever in a sickening way, like once she got there it would happen all over again, she would run up and see Newt, on the ground, dead, with a hole in his head and a gun in his hand. The worst part, the scariest part, the small smile on his lips, like he was almost happy to be leaving the earth behind. Plus, she couldn’t even imagine what Minho looked like right now.

Approaching the top of the hill, Teresa slowed down so Gally could walk ahead of her, but as he was about to pass her, she place a hand on his chest softly. “Please, just…be aware of what you’re about to see.”

And she saw the way that the constant suspicious look that Gally gave her melted down completely, to pure vulnerability. She left her hand on his chest for a couple more seconds before she patted the spot slightly and removed it completely. He stepped forward slowly, until he spotted Minho, still in the same position—dropped down on the ground with Newt’s head in his lap, his pants and legs covered in blood. He was sitting with his eyes shut, head hung low, silent tears running down his face. 

The gasp that came from Gally was the only sound that could be heard at that moment and Minho looked up, making teary eye contact with Gally, who walked over to Newt’s body. It was almost like he was in a trance, as if he didn’t really believe this was happening.

“I-I…” Teresa stuttered out. “Should I go get someone?” Her voice was barely a whisper, the only place she could look was at Newt, the boy that Thomas loved more than anything, the boy that beat her, the same boy that had been completely selfless the entire time she had known him, always giving and giving to everyone else, to the point where Teresa wondered if he had anything left for himself. Maybe Thomas filled the emptiness in him.

Newt. The boy she envied every day of her life; yet admired more than anyone.

Dead, in front of her, where she wasn’t allowed to even try to mourn him. She wasn’t allowed to try and love him a bit for Thomas.

“Y-you can…I don’t know,” Minho whispered. “Tell Vince, I guess. That’s probably the smart thing to do. He would know what to do better than I do.” She could hear the resignation in his voice and it was almost unbearable to hear. A boy so confident, so sure of himself, pushed so far down that it seemed as if he had been stripped of himself. Teresa could only imagine what he was feeling—losing both of his best friends in less than a year, being able to do absolutely nothing to stop it, simply because he didn’t get there in time.

Because everything was just a matter of time.

“Okay,” Teresa whispered, backing up slowly. “I’m gonna go get him.” She turned before she could hear an answer from either of the boys, running down the hill to go find Vince.

Running away from the body, from the boys, from the love of Thomas’ life.

 

* * *

 

The funeral service was short. Gally built a casket, a nice one, with soft, dark wood, that Newt would have thought was beautiful. They buried him directly next to Thomas, and although Teresa had to look away while they did it, she still was glad that the two of them got to be close, even after death. Vince gave a speech, as usual, and the island felt like it had stopped for a bit, as if no one wanted to take a breath now that Newt was gone. 

She saw Brenda holding Minho close while he cried—and god, Teresa had never seen Minho display any sort of emotion like this—and she watched Frypan and Gally hold each other tightly, both boys clearly trying to hold back their tears as best as they could.

Teresa stood off to the side, towards the back, hiding in the shadows of the trees. She didn’t feel welcome, almost as if she were intruding on a private, intimate moment that she was no longer allowed to witness.

But she had to be there, for Thomas. She had to stand there and be the person there to mourn him because Thomas wasn’t there to.

Teresa wasn’t heartless, she was mourning Newt herself, because despite everything that happened, despite all that she had done, he was still her friend. He may not have considered her a friend, but the last thing she had ever wanted was for anyone to get hurt.

She never wanted anyone to die.

 

* * *

 

“Tom, I’m sorry,” Teresa whispered, standing over the ground where he was buried. They didn’t have proper tombstones for the two boys yet; there was simply one stone, nothing carved in it yet, in between both graves, signifying that they were there.

Teresa had trouble wrapping her head around it sometimes. She had never been able to grasp the concept of Thomas’ death—it never seemed real to her. There was always a small piece of her that believed that he would come up to the shore one day and walk onto the beach as if nothing had ever happened. Because Thomas was invincible, she had that thought in her head for a long time. 

Something had to prove her wrong time and time again, however. Something like the graves of two teenage boys who both gave their lives for the other. One who died to make sure the other could live, and the other who died because he simply couldn’t live without the person he loved. It seemed that these days everything broke her heart, and she briefly wondered how many times her heart could shatter before it stayed like that forever.

“Newt…I’m sorry,” She whispered again, much quieter this time—as if she were afraid that someone would hear her and reprimand her—touching her hand to the stone that rested directly in between the two graves. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save either of you. I’m sorry that this was my fault, and I’m sorry that you both died hating me. I never got to make anything right, and I’m sorry for that. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, I just wanted to find a cure before it got worse.”

Teresa rested the flowers that she had found on the outskirts of the forest in the middle of the island on both graves, letting out a sigh, attempting to stop the tears and failing. She didn’t hear the footsteps, didn’t sense the presence behind her until there was a hand gently resting on her shoulder.

“No one blames you for what happened to Newt,” She heard Minho whisper behind her. She turned her head to face him slowly.

“I don’t know why you find it necessary to lie to me, I don’t think that attempting to cheer me up is really a requirement in this situation,” She turned back to the graves, the smell of fresh soil that covered Newt’s body overwhelming her.

“Listen, the last thing I’d do is lie to you or really even try to cheer you up,” Minho sounded so resigned, she noted. He sounded so ready to give up, and the thought of that worried her. After what she saw, after what just happened, two of the three boys were gone. Minho was the last one standing, and God only knows how long that may last. “What I’m trying to tell you is that no one blames you. We…we all sorta saw it coming with Newt. After what happened with Thomas…hell, I’m surprised he made it this long.” Everything Minho said came out in an ashamed whisper.

“Minho, there’s nothing you could have done to save him,” Teresa stood up, turning to face the boy completely. He looked years older than he was, and it brought a wave of nausea over her. She couldn’t tell if he looked that way because of Thomas and Newt, or because of what WCKD had put him through. 

Because of what _she_ had put him through.

“You couldn’t have known he was going to do this,” She continued on. “Even if you suspected it, even if you saw it coming, you couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. You couldn’t have predicted when, or where, or how.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should continue with her thought, before deciding that she really had nothing left to lose. “You couldn’t have saved Thomas either. Neither one of their deaths are on you, Minho. You tried so hard to save them both. But Thomas died in a freak accident, and with Newt, well, you can’t save someone that doesn’t want to be saved.”

Minho looked up at her, blank expression, but tearful eyes. “They weren’t on you either, Teresa.” He closed his eyes, no further elaboration. He didn’t need to go into it anymore; it felt as though those words were enough for her. She felt like maybe someone was on her side this time.

“Do, uh, do you want to come down to the bonfire? We’re carving Newt’s name in and I know Thomas would want you there.” Teresa looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes— when did she start tearing up? —and nodded quickly. 

“Yes, I would love to come,” She whispered, afraid that if her voice went any louder than the illusion would break, Minho would snap out of it, and everyone would go back to shunning her. 

Teresa could still see the layer of distrust and anger in his eyes, but this was a step, a big step, in the right direction. Maybe one day everyone could get past what she had done. Maybe one day she could get past what she had done. But for now, this is good.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! 
> 
> i hope this is in character; i don't write teresa, i typically try to stick to writing newt (sometimes thomas) and i'm not too sure how her voice would sound, but i tried my very best. i think i may have one more part after this and it's actually not going to be angst...but we'll see if people actually want it. let me know if you'd actually read if i posted another part!
> 
> come hang and be my friend on twitter @/unholynewt :)


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